


Responsibility

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: At Least That's What I'm Aiming For, Confrontations, Dwalin Is A Softie, Gen, Glóin Being A Typical Dwarf Teen, Tea, Theft, even if he doesn't know it, tHAT'S A TAG??, this is great, Óin Being A Responsible Big Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin witnesses a crime. Óin reaches a difficult decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibility

It is during his morning round of Ered Luin, walking by the baker's shop that Dwalin sees his iraknadadith talking with a stranger. Absent-mindedly, he thinks of the Dwarf who came to him, roaring about 'a fuggin' thief!' with 'greasy black 'air in these stuuupid fuggin' girly bra'ds."  
The stranger does have dark hair, but it looks clean and tidy, yet it is braided in a very odd style... He frowns. It is of the Eastern style, immaculate and intricate. He notices other things. The tunic is made of velvet and is a deep rippling green. The leather surcoat isn't of the thick, tough leather that residents of Ered Luin usually wear, it is light and soft, dyed purest black. His boots are of good, expensive quality, with real silver decorating the sides. Clinging to his ears are genuine silver ear cuffs and studs. When he speaks, a malachite, in the shape of the Eastern pentagons shines bright.

There's something not right about this lad. Dwalin doesn't know what, but there's something he doesn't like. His eyes fall on the Dwarf's hand. It travels to the unsuspecting 'dam standing by the baker's shop window admiring buns with pink icing and cherries, her purse hanging by her side from the drawstrings. With a sharp sudden yank, it goes and the lady doesn't even realise.

But he does.

With four swift steps, he moves toward the scummy thief and grabs him none too gently. He takes the purse and lightly touches the woman's shoulder. "Here you go." He says gruffly. "Hide it next time."

She takes it, giving an offended look to the thief and moves inside the baker's shop, knowing that Abzunde, the woman who owns it would personally bake any thieves into one of her pies if she found them.

Dwalin hopes the thief doesn't know that. He shakes him. It really irritates him when women are thieved. There are so few and it is an insult to do such things. He looks at Glóin and sees that he isn't surprised by any of it. In fact, he looks shifty. He scowls. Glóin knew. "Go and find your brother."

There's a nod and his cousin leaves. Dwalin shakes the thief one more time and drags him to the Holding Halls.

* * *

 

"What have you done?" Óin immediately asks. He knows this guilty I-did-a-thing look too well.

"Mmmm..."

"Nadadith! Tell me!"

"Nothing..."

Óin sighs. "I won't be angry, I swear. Please trust me!"

"Fóli steals."

_"He what???"_

"Nadad!!" Glóin protests and Óin remembers his promise.

"I'm sorry. He..he didn't threaten you to keep quiet, did he?"

"No..." His brother puts his hand to his mouth and nibbles his nails. He's always done this when anxious, scared or stressed.

Óin gently takes it and smiles at him.

"Dwalin saw him steal today!"

"Oh, no....." What a nightmare. But he forces himself to cheer up and smiles again. "Never mind. It's not like you knew this before.."

"I knew yesterday. I only thought about how Adad said about how _they_ had to do it all those years before we were born!"

Before _Glóin_ was born. Óin had been born on the tail end of the worst times. "I know, nadadith." The thought of him spending time with a thief is not a pleasant one, though. Thieves have enemies. Thieves can kill. Thieves can kidnap. This third thought frightens him most of all.

Before he can speak, there's a thumping on the door. He gestures to the seat and goes to answer the door and is not surprised to see Dwalin standing there with a distinctive glower on his face. He comes in, silently closes the door and gives Óin a rather pointed look."Yes," says the healer. "I know."

"When?"

"Today."

"And you?" Dwalin asks Glóin, trying his best to remove the heavy scowl. "Did you know today?"

"Yesterday."

Dwalin takes in a deep breath and exhales with a soft hiss. He nods and goes to sit by him, gently touching his hand as if to offer reassurance. Dwalin is clearly more angry at the situation than at his nadadith, so Óin continues his work, though he faces his cousin and brother in order to watch what happens.

"Why do you think Fóli steals?"

"Because nobody will give him employment and he has no money."

"Cousin! Did you _never_ look closer? He wears velvets, the leather of the wealthy, he wears jewellery of real silver, even his boots are decorated with silver! He wears a jewel on his tongue! He has no need to steal. No need at all."

Glóin has that look in his eyes. He won't be backing down. "When Smaug came for Erebor, our fathers wore gold in their hair, wore jewels on their fingers, precious metals on their clothes. They wore silks and fine leathers, yet they too stole. His riches likely have value to him, as our fathers held their riches to have been."

"You liken our fathers to him? How dare you?!"

"They aren't so different to him, Dwalin!"

"They are, laddie! They took shame in it. And I might add they never stole directly from people, especially the poor!"

"You're not being fair!"

"He's dangerous. Thieves have enemies!"

"You can't stop me from being his friend!"

Dwalin takes a deep breath. "I don't want to make you unhappy. I am _trying_ to keep you safe. You're a young lad, not even of age. He's fully grown, yes?"

Glóin nods his head. "Yeah."

"Most adults wouldn't be so scummy to hurt a child. _Criminals_ work on a different level. His enemies might hurt you. His friends might hurt you. Please don't stay near him."

"I'm not a damned child!"

"Oh, yes? And _when_ did you come of age?"

_"Ugggghhhh!!!!!"_ Glóin snarls in response.

Óin can just see him picking up something and hurling it, so he abandons his duties and goes over to him, grabbing his shoulders and squeezing them. He looks at Dwalin, eyebrows lowered, silently telling him to back away before pots go flying around. By some miracle, Dwalin gets the hint. He gets up and tries to make amends by gently ruffling his hair which only really serves to fluff up the bright auburn braids but it seems to work because his shoulders grow less tense. On the way out, Dwalin gives him the 'don't forget to tell him' look and Óin huffs a sigh.

It looks like tonight will mark the beginning of another argument.

* * *

 

Most of the time, Óin doesn't mind what he does. Within reason, at least, though he and his nadad have occasional disagreements on what constitutes as 'reasonable'.

Apparently, eating shortbread for breakfast _isn't_ reasonable.

But if they can't admit that the other is right, they'll discuss it. Not like the discussions they had with their parents, where their father or mother talked and they had to listen and, on occasion, pretend to agree, but actually listening to the other's point of view and offering up solutions.

Apparently, eating shortbread for a snack before or after breakfast is reasonable.

But when they get home, Óin turns to him with that look in his eyes which tells Glóin that there won't be any negotiations. But he hasn't got that stubborn look in his eyes, so Glóin knows he'll listen, at least.

Óin hangs up his cloak and opens his arms. When he goes to his big brother and clings to him, he feels one of his nadad's gentle hands stroking his hair and he gently tugs one of his brother's light gold braids in playful retaliation.

"Pulling my hair out!" Óin pretends to complain. He pulls back and gently takes one of his little brother's plaits and uses the tied off end to tickle his nose making him giggle and protest. "Little sod. Get in the living room, will you?"

He comes back with tea in steaming mugs. Óin always uses his birthday mug now - the gift he received at 42, a mug of thick, blue porcelain which looked like it was made of lapis lazuli, little golden stars printed around the top and bottom. It had been filled up with creamy fudge, long gone now.  
Glóin's is strange. It looks like it could be made of glass, being opaque, but it isn't. It seems to be made of clear porcelain, with misty swirls of crimson and black. He had been given it for his 57th nameday and it had been filled up with shortbread cookies.

There are none now, but Óin makes the best tea in the world, so he doesn't complain. May is arriving, but there is a chill in the air and the hot, comforting liquid drives it away.

"Nadad," says Óin gently. "Why didn't you tell me he steals?"

* * *

 

He isn't surprised at the half-groan that escapes his brother.

"Because he said he has to!"

"Nadadith..." Óin pauses and then blurts out the rest. "Dwalin's right!"

_"What?! He is not!!"_ Glóin snaps. He puts his mug down and glares at him. "Why aren't you on _my_ side? I'm your _brother!"_

"Da sold _all_ the gold from his hair and beard. He sold his jewellery, cut the precious metals and jewels from his clothes. So did Uncle Fundin and Grandfather... Mammy sold her jewels from the old suitors who tried to win her favour.. They survived by doing this, as did others!"

"They only did all that when they got _here!"_

"But they did it." Óin says, trying his best to speak calmly. _"He_ hasn't. I don't want you spending time with Fóli anymore."

Glóin stares at him. Óin can't stand the look in his eyes. He looks so surprised, so confused, so _betrayed_. He reaches out to him, but he jerks away. _"Don't_ touch me."

"Nadadith..."

"Do _I_ have a say in it?"

He's doing that thing with his voice. He's so cold suddenly. Óin prefers it when he's fiery and verbal. It doesn't suit Glóin to be icy and quiet. But he at least owes him an answer. "I'm sorry, but I mean it. No contact with him."

It's this which makes Glóin's mouth set. He edges further away, gets up and walks out of the room.

Not even a minute later, the front door slams closed.


End file.
